Here There Be Monsters
by Tinks231
Summary: When undercover agent Mel Cobb is recruited by the Joes, she gets more than she bargained for. Drawn into the seedy world of the Dreadnoks, she must decide which side she's really on...  Duke/OC
1. Chapter 1

So, I know I have a few unfinished fics up, but I'm really having fun writing this one, and the words for the others just aren't coming at the moment :(

Anyway, it's focused on yet another original character - this one is Australian, so I've tried to get the accent down in writing, which is actually kinda hard because I've never really thought about how I talk...I've had a few weird looks from my housemate when I randomly say a word out loud a few times, then go back to typing. I've left a lot, out because it would've got too hard to read and too annoying to write - like I COULD have put cahn't instead of can't, and all that, but...nah. All you really need to know is we're kinda lazy when we talk, heh heh, so missing T's and other letters are normal :P

Another thing - if you're a fan of Duke and Scarlett, you probably won't like this. I'll always be a Scarlett and Snake Eyes girl :D

Last of all, MASSIVE thanks to theonewhowrotetatertots for putting up with all my emails full of possible ideas, random questions and other stuff! It's much appreciated! :D

Also, I've never been to LAX or JFK, so I was making it up as I went :)

* * *

><p>The big blonde man was finding it hard to stretch out his long legs. As he shifted in his seat again, tugging at his tie, Mel Cobb raised an eyebrow. "An' that's whatcha get for wearin' a monkey suit on a plane," she said with a self-satisfied smirk.<p>

He glanced sideways at her, no doubt wondering how much more comfortable her holey, frayed jeans and cut off singlet were. Probably not much - would _anything _be comfortable on a flight this long? And under these circumstances?

This was why she hated flying; she could never seem to get comfortable in plane seats. That, and she usually got stuck near a screaming kid. Or beside somebody who didn't understand that headphones in ears means, 'Don't talk to me'.

Well…at least he'd loosened her cuffs a little. And when the flight attendants had brought the dodgy in-flight breakfast, he'd even unlocked one side to let her eat. Granted, he'd cuffed the free end to his own wrist until she was done, but hey…it'd felt good to stretch that one arm.

Maybe she could convince him to let her stretch the other one. He seemed like a pretty reasonable guy. She rolled her shoulders and tipped her head from side to side, cracking her neck loudly.

Hauser was giving her a suspicious look, his cool blue eyes narrowed at her as if he expected her to try something.

Mel rolled her own hazel eyes and sighed in exasperation, rattling the cuffs pointedly. "Don't reckon you could gimme a break, could ya?" She spoke in a low murmur, just like Hauser had told her to. She didn't know why; as it was, they had the whole row of seats to themselves. Apparently, not many people wanted to fly from Melbourne to LAX at 0330 hours, even though it was a cheap flight. Mel didn't blame them - it'd only been three hours since takeoff, and she was _already_ over it…and there were still thirteen bloody hours to go.

And that wasn't including the flight from LAX to JFK.

_Damn_.

The big man paused for a moment.

"C'mon, _Connie_, I needa pee, anyway," Mel insisted bluntly. "Unless ya _want_ me to just go 'ere? Or didja bring one o' those doggy mat things for me?"

Special Agent Conrad Hauser shifted again. "Alright," he said quietly. He reached over her and grabbed his jacket from the empty window seat beside her - she sat in the middle of the row of three seats, while he'd taken the aisle. Mel raised her hands and Hauser, with a quick glance around, unlocked the cuffs.

Damn, it felt good to have those metal bracelets off…even if it was only one side at a time. She wanted to stretch her arms wide right there, but that wouldn't go down too well. She _was_ a convicted criminal, after all…it wouldn't do to have the flight attendants freaking out if they saw her unrestrained.

Hauser draped his jacket over her arms, hiding the fact that the cuffs were undone. "Come on."

His knees popped as he stood to let her out. Mel arched her back before shuffling into the aisle ahead of him, and they both headed toward the bathroom. He kept one hand on her shoulder, his fingers hooking into her collarbone. It didn't hurt…but it still wasn't a pleasant feeling.

They squeezed past a flight attendant on the way. The woman glanced at Mel before hurrying onwards. It didn't bother Mel; she was used to getting looks like that. Mostly, it was the torn clothes, and maybe the tattoos; four stars - red, green, blue and pink - curving across the swell of her breasts on both sides just above her bra line. Those tattoos were real attention grabbers - not that that was why she'd got them. She just liked stars. They weren't usually on display like they were today - she normally didn't show as much skin as she was now.

Hauser took his jacket, then stood discreetly with his back to the door as she went in and closed it behind her. Inside - nasty and cramped and gross as it was - Mel grinned and laced her fingers together, cracking her knuckles as she stretched her arms high. She didn't really need to pee…she'd just wanted an excuse to get out of that damn uncomfortable seat. She stretched her back and rolled her ankle - the right one, the one that tended to seize whenever she sat down for a long time - from side to side, enjoying the sound and the feel of her joints loosening up.

After a few minutes, there were three sharp raps on the door. She scowled at it, picturing Hauser on the other side, imagining the uncompromising expression that he probably wore on his attractive face.

Yes, she thought he was kind of cute. Square jaw, bright blue eyes, broad shoulders, a _great _arse…and she'd always had a thing for blondes. It really was too bad he'd arrested her. Otherwise, she might've asked if she could buy him a beer sometime.

"Alright. _Alright_ already! Jeez!" She yanked the door open, glaring. Hauser glared right back and threw his jacket at her. His eyes flicked sideways; Mel also noticed the flight attendant watching them carefully. "Get back to your seat."

She didn't move, briefly thinking of trying to escape, but what was the point? There was nowhere to go, and she didn't exactly feel like crashing the whole damn plane.

Hauser grabbed her shoulder again, frogmarched her back down the aisle and shoved her into her seat.

Mel rolled her eyes as he fastened the cuffs around her wrists again. "D'you _really_ think that's necessary?" she complained.

Hauser shot her a look, but said nothing.

"Fine then, be like that," she said sullenly. "I'm watchin' a frickin' movie."

"Go ahead. If it'll shut you up for a couple of hours, all the better," Hauser retorted.

"Ah, stick it up your arse."

Before he could answer, Mel jammed her cheap airplane headphones in her ears and turned the volume up loud, jabbing at the touch screen mounted into the headrest of the seat in front of her. It was too bad there was nobody sitting in it - that could've been amusing.

With a final glare at Special Agent Hauser, Mel reclined her seat back as far as it would go and tried to get comfy.

* * *

><p>"Wake up."<p>

Mel groaned and went to slap at the hand that was roughly shaking her, but a tug on her opposite wrist reminded her that she was still cuffed. "We there yet?"

Hauser nodded.

"Good. 'S about frickin' time," she grumbled, shaking her choppy, chin-length, chocolate-coloured hair from her eyes. She stretched, then realised that she was taking up more space than she had been - she'd ended up curled awkwardly on the two remaining seats in their row, her head wedged in the corner of the wall and the back of the window seat, her butt right up against the armrest separating her from Hauser.

Mel sat up, yawning. Looking around, she saw that she and Hauser were the only two left in the cabin. She'd slept through the entire landing sequence.

Great. She was going to be _so_ jetlagged…

Hauser leaned over her, his hand still on her shoulder. "Come on," he ordered gruffly.

Muttering curses to herself, Mel allowed him to adjust the jacket over her cuffs - because _that_ wouldn't make it obvious she was under arrest - and walk her through the plane to the exit. He thanked the flight attendants on the way out. Still a little fuzzy-headed, all Mel could be bothered doing was scowling petulantly. She kept pace beside Hauser as they headed into the Tom Bradley International Terminal.

Compared to Tullamarine Airport in Melbourne - which only had four terminals - this place was _huge_. People bustled everywhere, hurrying to the carousels to claim their luggage, jostling for good positions right by the edge of the belt.

It was too perfect. She couldn't pass it up.

Mel stopped, looking up, pretending to be peering around the airport curiously. Hauser turned to hurry her up - and she slammed both her clenched fists into his gut.

Special Agent Hauser doubled over - Mel thought it was more surprise than anything, because the guy's abs were iron-hard - but he made a grab for her anyway. Mel ducked away, only to be yanked around as he caught hold of his jacket, still draped over her cuffs. The sleeve caught on the links - she pulled away, and couldn't stop herself grinning smugly as she heard the expensive jacket rip at the seam. Hauser was left holding most of it, while the sleeve slithered to the floor.

Served him right, wearing something that fancy on the job.

People shouted irritably as Mel took off - of course, the first thing they noticed was a tattooed woman of average height, wearing jeans so torn they might as well have been shorts, big black biker boots and a blue singlet raggedly cut across the midriff bolting at them.

The next thing they noticed was the silver glint of the handcuffs, and when they saw _that_, the shouts turned into screams.

"Stop!" Hauser roared behind her.

Mel shoved her way through the crowd by one of the carousels, ignoring the indignant protests - which again turned to screams - and leaped onto the belt. Her feet almost went from under her, but she regained her balance quickly, scrambling over the carpeted island in the middle.

"Move! FBI, get outta the way!"

She risked a brief glance over her shoulder - Hauser was hot on her tail, running toward her. He'd have a gun somewhere, she was sure of it. Maybe it was strapped to his ankle. Wherever it was, he hadn't reached for it. He didn't want to shoot her - he had to take her in alive.

Which meant she still had a chance. A slim one, but hey…she'd never been one to pass up an opportunity.

Although…wasn't that what'd gotten her into this in the first place?

Mel danced along the top of the island, then, when she spotted a space on the conveyor belt that was clear of luggage, she dropped down onto it. Behind her, she heard the big FBI agent's thudding footfalls as he, too, jumped onto the belt. "Stop!" he shouted again.

Like hell. Mel ran along the black rubber belt as fast as she could, nimbly dodging the suitcases and carry bags dotted along it, making for the only exit she could think of - the small gap in the wall, covered by black plastic flaps, where the luggage disappeared. She didn't know what was beyond there, but hey…ever since she was a kid, she'd always wanted to just sit on a carousel and ride it all the way around. Now she had her chance.

She was almost there. She was just a few steps away from the wall when, without warning, something crashed into her from behind. She went down hard, landing painfully on the corner of a large suitcase, her cuffed hands outstretched but not doing much to prevent her fall.

Strong hands shoved the suitcase off the carousel and flipped her onto her back. She caught a glimpse of the black half-sphere covering a surveillance camera before Hauser leaned into her line of sight, reaching for her arm.

Mel brought her wrists down on his hand. The handcuffs glanced off his flashy gold watch and bit into her own skin, but she'd knocked him aside. Without hesitation, she swung both arms up again, this time catching him across the face. With a grunt of surprise, Hauser rolled right off the conveyor belt - just as Mel went headfirst underneath the plastic flaps.

It was loud out here. Men and women in fluorescent safety vests and earmuffs looked up in surprise as Mel rolled to her feet, still riding the belt, the rumble of machinery assaulting her ears and drowning out her own rapid heartbeat.

Not for very long, though. Suddenly, an alarm sounded and the conveyor belt lurched to a stop, pitching Mel forward flat onto her face.

"Ow," she mumbled, rubbing her nose.

"FBI!" Hauser's voice boomed behind her. "Everyone down!"

The airport workers hit the ground quickly. Mel glanced behind her, hearing the plastic flaps slapping together as Hauser stood.

"Give it up," he said. "Stop running. There's nowhere for you to go." He approached slowly, hands out, as if she was a flighty horse that needed calming.

She didn't waste her breath answering. Her fingers locked around the handle of a small briefcase on the belt in front of her and she lunged to her feet, swinging. The case smacked him square in the jaw. Without waiting to see if Hauser went down, Mel chucked the briefcase, jumped off the carousel and bolted. She hurdled the workers still lying on the floor and weaved her way through the trucks ferrying luggage from terminal to plane - or the other way around.

Suddenly, a loud bang echoed through the large, warehouse-like area. There was a _ping_ from a steel shipping container beside her, and sparks flew. Dammit, Hauser was _shooting_ at her!

Well…there _were_ fewer people out here than there were in the terminal. Less chance of hitting someone other than her.

Mel ducked behind a forklift and crawled along its length, catching her breath for a moment as she peered around the end, back in the direction she'd just come from. Hauser slowed to a halt, his keen blue eyes searching. There was blood trickling from his mouth - looked like she'd split his lip when she whacked him with the briefcase. Nice.

One of the workers glanced up…and looked right at her. "There! Behind the forklift!"

"Shit," Mel spat. She launched herself to her feet.

"I don't think so."

She literally bounced off Special Agent Hauser - it was almost like she'd smacked face first into a brick wall. He loomed over her, his face hard.

Mel gulped and went to back away. Hauser snatched the handcuff links and yanked her forward again. "Enough. Cooperate, or…"

He left the threat unfinished, spinning her around and forcing her to walk.

"Or what?" Mel pressed obstinately, trying to shrug his hand off her upper arm. It didn't work - his grip was like a vice, on the verge of hurting.

"Or," he said, and he surreptitiously pressed the barrel of the gun he held to her back.

Mel swallowed, for the first time feeling a twinge of nervousness. It was a _big_ gun - a Desert Eagle. It'd make a fair-sized hole. "You wouldn't."

"No, I probably wouldn't," he admitted. "But I _would_ hit you with it. It'd be just as easy for me to _carry_ you around as it is to walk."

One of the workers showed them to a door. As they strode through it, applause rang out through the terminal; the passengers congratulating Hauser for apprehending his ward. Mel felt her face go red, so she lowered her head and scowled at her feet. Well...this was going to be on the news.

After what seemed like a _long_ parade through the airport, Hauser pushed her into a small room. It looked like one of the rooms she'd seen on those TV shows about airports - where the customs officials interrogated suspicious people.

She supposed it was fitting.

"You thirsty?" Hauser asked as she sat on one of the two chairs at the small table.

Mel nodded, looking past him out the window into the hallway she'd just been marched down. Two security guards stood watch out there - they'd accompanied her and Hauser through the airport. One of them gave her a foul look in return.

"I'll get some water. If you move, those guys out there have permission to do whatever they have to do to stop you."

Mel scoffed, and Hauser left the room. Nevertheless - even though she probably could've taken the two guards out, handcuffed and all - Mel didn't move an inch until he returned with a plastic cup of water.

"What, ya don' trust me with a glass?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.

"No. I don't," he answered bluntly.

They settled into an awkward silence, Hauser watching her every move.

Glancing up at the clock on the wall, Mel sighed. Another forty five minutes until they caught their connecting flight to JFK, and that was another few hours in the air.

Maybe she could sleep through most of that one, too.

* * *

><p>Sleep? Yeah. Right.<p>

The plane was full. Hauser and Mel sat right at the back of their section. At least this time Mel had the window seat, and it wasn't dark outside, so she could look out at something. The aisle seat beside Hauser had been kept empty, and they were right near the bathroom, so they were able to get up and stretch without drawing too much attention to themselves. There was a young guy across the aisle in the middle row of seats; he kept looking over at them curiously.

One of the security guards had returned the remains of Hauser's jacket to him. Mel had it draped over her like a blanket. It was big enough - Hauser was a big guy. At five feet six, Mel's head just reached his shoulders.

She snuck a glance at him from the corner of her eye. Yeah…he was definitely cute.

Well, she supposed the more correct term would be 'handsome'. Cute was too…soft...for his square jaw and sharp cheekbones.

"What are you looking at?"

Crap. Sprung. "Just the cut on ya lip," she said, allowing a note of smugness into her voice. "'S a good look."

Hauser shifted and glanced at his watch. "Twenty minutes to landing," he said, tactfully ignoring her taunt.

"Good. Me bloody arse's gone numb from all this sittin' down."

"Charming. If you need to go to the bathroom, now's the time - we go straight to the car when we land."

Mel rolled her eyes. "I can't pee on command," she muttered. Nevertheless, she held her hands out.

Hauser unlocked one side of the cuffs and stood, gesturing for her to get up. The guy across the aisle glanced over and gave her a hopeful smile.

_In your dreams, mate_, Mel thought. Then, as an afterthought, she smiled sweetly at him - and 'accidentally' let the cuffs slip into view.

The guy's eyes went wide and he looked away quickly. Mel let her smile turn into a smirk.

"What's so funny?" Hauser asked suspiciously.

"Oh, nuthin'."

Hauser narrowed his eyes. It took all Mel's self-control not to snigger; she averted her eyes, her lips pressed into a tight, twitching line, and squeezed past him, heading for the bathroom.

* * *

><p>Again, they were the last ones to get off the plane. The guy across the aisle hurried off as quickly as he could, climbing over the seats all the way across to the other aisle with a nervous glance behind him.<p>

Hauser frowned. "That was weird."

"What was weird?" Mel asked, even though she'd watched - and smiled wickedly at - the guy as he left.

Her tone must've been a little _too_ innocent. Hauser glared. "What did you do?"

"Nuthin'!" she protested.

"Mel…"

"Well, it's not nice ta gawk at people. I mighta let the cuffs slip inta view when I went past 'im before. Maybe."

Was that a slight smile on the special agent's face?

Nope. He grabbed her arm, hauled her out of her seat and off the plane.

Now that the boring part was over, time seemed to speed up. Hauser walked her quickly through JFK, not letting go of her arm once - not giving her the chance to bolt like she had at LAX. There was no escaping that grip; Mel followed along readily, looking around, this time in earnest. They didn't need to line up along the carousels to wait for luggage; all Hauser had needed to bring was Mel, and she hadn't been allowed to bring anything with her.

Of course, where she was going, she didn't _need_ anything.

They strode quickly through the terminals and to the entrance. Just before they continued on through another door marked 'Staff Only', Mel's attention was caught by a red-faced man gesturing wildly at one of the ticket counters and complaining about only being five minutes late for his flight while the woman behind the desk looked on, clearly unimpressed. Mel couldn't quite suppress her malicious snort - stupid man. Maybe now he'd learn get to the airport on time. Idiot.

"This way," Hauser said shortly, pulling her down a long corridor and to another set of doors that led outside to a private carpark. A car was waiting, parked illegally right in front of the doors - an inconspicuous dark blue sedan with, of course, tinted windows. Mel could just make out the driver's shadow through the windscreen, but didn't have time for much else. Hauser opened the back door and urged her in quickly, a hand on the top of her head, pushing her down onto the seat. He shut the door after her, hurried around the front of the car and got in.

Mel tried the door. It didn't open…but it wasn't locked, either. "Really? You child-locked me in? _Seriously_?"

The driver's head turned to Hauser, then he twisted in his seat and studied Mel curiously. He looked her up and down, then grinned broadly. "You must be Mel."

She met his blue eyes, taking in the dark hair and at least three days of stubble growth on his chin. "I'm sorry, were ya expectin' someone else?"

Hauser sighed. "Just drive, Steinberg."

"Just hang on a sec," Steinberg answered, waving dismissively. "Can you just say one thing for me? Please?" he asked Mel.

She stared at him.

Hauser cleared his throat impatiently.

"Okay, _okay_. Yeesh. Your panties all bunched up, or what?"

Mel snorted. Hauser ignored her, fixing the driver with an even, deadly glare.

"Right. Sorry, man. Drivin' now." The scruffy-looking man turned the key. The car started quietly, and they pulled out of the carpark and joined the flow of traffic heading out to the freeway.

* * *

><p>An hour later, Steinberg parked the car out the front of a tall, fancy-looking building - a hotel. Mel gazed out the window, waiting for Special Agent Hauser to open the door for her.<p>

"Everything's already set up?" Hauser asked Steinberg.

The driver nodded.

"Good." Hauser nodded and clapped Steinberg on the shoulder before getting out.

Steinberg turned to her as soon as the other man had closed his door. "You know, I really like Australian accents," he hinted.

She smiled sweetly at him. "That's nice," she answered, and got out without hesitating as Hauser opened her door.

"So…I'll talk to ya later, huh?" Steinberg called after her.

Mel adjusted the jacket over her cuffs as she and Hauser walked through the doors of the big building and straight across the foyer to the elevators opposite.

They didn't have to wait for one - the doors pinged open immediately after Hauser jabbed the call button. Once inside, he let go of her arm and pressed the button for the thirty-first floor.

They didn't speak. Mel leaned casually against the wall, inspecting herself in the mirrored back wall of the lift…and maybe checking out Hauser's reflection a little, too. He stood with his weight even on both feet, his broad shoulders squared. It looked like he expected her to make another break for freedom.

Yeah. Because she could get the emergency hatch open, pull herself up through it and climb the elevator shaft, all while handcuffed. She snorted quietly, shaking her head.

The cheerful _ping_ of the doors broke the silence. Hauser held one arm out, indicating for her to go first.

_Wow. Handsome _and_ a gentleman, _she thought. She allowed herself a small smile when she had her back to him.

Hauser guided her along the corridors until, finally, they stopped at a room at the very end of a short hall branching off the main one. He knocked three times quickly, then another two, slowly. There was a short pause, and then the door opened.

He gave Mel a gentle push into the room. It was the biggest hotel room Mel had ever seen - hell, it was practically an apartment. The first thing she saw was the large living room - with a huge, squishy-looking couch in front of a massive TV - separated from the kitchen and dining area by a single step. A hallway off to the right must have led to the bathroom and bedrooms.

Hauser stepped inside after her. As soon as the door closed, he grabbed his jacket, tossed it over the back of the couch and undid her cuffs - both of them. He pocketed them - she wouldn't be wearing them for another few days, hopefully.

Mel rubbed her wrists. While the cuffs hadn't been too tight, they definitely hadn't been comfortable. She'd been wearing them for pretty much a whole day straight - almost the entire time it'd taken to get here. There were red marks around her bony wrists, and in one spot on her right wrist the skin was rubbed raw.

Not that she was about to complain. It was all part of the job; she'd known that from the start.

"Well…we made it."

She turned to see Hauser grinning at her - it was the first time she'd seen him grin since he'd found her.

Mel grinned back. "Eventually," she agreed. Wow…he was even more attractive when he smiled. Maybe she'd offer him that beer _after_ all…

"Welcome to the team, Mel."

"Ta. 'S good ta finally be officially on board, Duke."


	2. Chapter 2

Gotta be quick again - at work :D

Thanks to everyone who read and reviewed! It makes my day!

* * *

><p>Manila folders and loose pieces of paper were spread out all across the large dining table, taking up almost the entire tabletop. The only light in the hotel room came from directly above the table, and even that was dimmed as low as it could go while still being bright enough to read by.<p>

Mel sat at the table, her chin resting on one hand as she pored over the documents, tapping a pen absently on the notepad beside her. A bottle of Coke sat by her elbow, half-drunk - the enormous, bald, dark-skinned man who'd opened the door for her and Duke had gone and got it for her a couple of hours ago. His codename was Roadblock, and it suited him well. Mel already liked him; for such a huge guy, he was soft-spoken, and he was polite despite his intimidating looks.

There'd been two other people - besides Roadblock - in the hotel room when Mel and Duke had arrived. One was a tall, lean woman with beautiful long red hair pulled back in a ponytail - Scarlett - and the other was a shaggy-haired, blonde-bearded man called Rock 'n' Roll. Steinberg, who they'd all called Clutch, joined them shortly after Mel and Duke got there.

Mel had barely got her 'hello's' out before Duke broke out the paperwork. He'd brought out a whole briefcase of files - the ones now scattered across the table. It was Mel's job to memorise them as quickly as she could. This wasn't a holiday or a training mission, no matter how cushy the apartment was.

The others had taken the opportunity to step out of the room and give her some time to concentrate. Scarlett, who seemed to be Duke's second-in-command, had gone to tell 'the rest' - whoever they might be - that Mel and Duke had arrived. Rock 'n' Roll and Clutch had unabashedly decided to go to the bar, waving off Duke's warning that there'd be trouble if they returned drunk. With a roguish smile, Clutch had invited Mel along…when she'd pointed out that she couldn't exactly leave the apartment, he'd promised her a party when they got back.

Duke had fixed Clutch with a stern look and pointed to the door. The driver flashed her another grin as Rock 'n' Roll dragged him out of the room - before Duke _threw_ them out.

"'S 'e always -" Mel started.

"Yes," Duke had said with a long-suffering sigh, "he's always like that."

Not long after the two grease monkeys left, Roadblock had also taken off, wanting to 'sample some fine cuisine, for a change'. Mel hadn't quite understood what he meant until Duke, with another charming smile, explained that the enormous man was a gourmet who enjoyed criticising the dishes at the most expensive restaurants. Roadblock could whip up haute-cuisine with the best of them - as well as, apparently, take out an entire squad of bad guys with his .50 calibre heavy machine gun.

Duke himself had taken his leave a couple of hours ago, after changing into civilian clothes - jeans (which Mel couldn't help but sneakily admire) and a hoodie which didn't disguise his solid physique. Not that she was complaining - there was nothing wrong with checking out a good-looking guy every now and then. Never mind the fact that - for now, and the foreseeable future - he was technically her commanding officer, and officially out of bounds.

Still…maybe when this was all over, before she went back home and he went…wherever…maybe that beer would be in order…

Mel realised she'd been staring at the same line in the current report for the last five minutes. Well, _that_ wasn't going to get her anywhere.

She shook her head, leaning back in her chair and rubbing her eyes with the heels of her hands. After so long sitting down in the planes, here she was, sitting down _again_. For the last few hours, she'd been reading through report after report on - of all things - a motorcycle gang. They called themselves the Dreadnoks.

Mel glanced at the handwritten notes she'd jotted down in her backwards-slanting, left-handed writing. She already had two pages of dot points (surrounded by random scribbles in the margins); abbreviated notes of important things she'd need to remember. And she hadn't even _started_ on the main members of the gang.

Technically, she didn't need to make notes - she wouldn't be going anywhere for the next few days, which would be more than long enough for her to memorise everything she needed to. Hell, she'd had enough practice. Still, she learned better this way, retained more information. And this way, she could summarise whole reports without all the unnecessary 'official' stuff, which was just plain boring.

The Dreadnoks had originated in Australia, although there were now chapters dotted throughout the United States. At first, they'd had been a relatively unknown bikie gang…that is, until they defeated a rival gang, the Melbourne Maulers, and absorbed its members. The Dreadnoks were now known for being particularly violent, causing mayhem wherever they went. Being a Melbourne girl herself, Mel was familiar with the story - in the way that people were familiar with Captain Cook discovering Australia. They knew he'd done it, but most couldn't be stuffed remembering the details.

Either way, all that with the Dreadnoks had happened before her time. She was twenty six, born in late September of 1985 - the gang had risen to power a couple of years before that.

She reached for her Coke and had a mouthful, pulling a thick folder toward her as she leaned back in her seat and put her feet up on one of the other chairs. The soft drink was flat, the fizz long gone. Mel kept drinking anyway. She kind of liked flat Coke; there were no bubbles to go up her nose.

She flipped open the folder. "Hello…Richard Blinken-Smythe, aka Dick Blinken. Well, no wonder ya changed ya name ta Buzzer, eh." She raised an eyebrow at the photo paperclipped to the first page of the report - a mugshot of a man with blue eyes and long, greasy-looking blonde hair pulled back in a rough ponytail scowling out at her. The top of his head reached the six foot mark of the board he stood in front of. "Hm. Hates dogs, eh?"

Mel grabbed a new page and made a note of the name and aliases, then continued reading, pausing every now and then to write something important down. This Buzzer guy had actually been a professor of sociology at Cambridge University in England. He'd made several trips to Australia for his studies on bikie gangs, only to become obsessed with the culture, and he'd eventually gone native and chucked it in with the Dreadnoks.

If he used to be a professor, he might be a problem…although according to what she was seeing in the file, it seemed like riding with the Dreadnoks had killed Buzzer's brain cells somewhat. Still…he'd studied sociology, of all things. If any of the 'noks was going to suspect anything, it'd be him.

She flipped to the start of Buzzer's file and began reading it again. She'd inevitably pick up on _something _she'd missed the first time. After that, she'd read it for a third time, and then a fourth, until even the little things stuck, before moving on to a new file. She'd repeat the whole process tomorrow, and the next night, as well.

It was nice, having several days to read things through at her own pace for a change.

Mel leaned forward again, reaching for the red bottle cap and spinning it between her fingers as she read through an incident report involving Buzzer, a man named 'Mutt' and a dog called 'Junkyard'. Buzzer had attacked the dog with a chainsaw and wounded him, but not fatally.

"Bored yet?"

A plastic bag thumped down on the table beside her. Mel jumped about a foot out of her seat and slammed her feet to the floor, cursing loudly as she spun around, fists clenched.

Duke raised his hands, palms out in a gesture of surrender, and stepped back quickly. "Whoa! Hey, it's just me."

"Fuckin' 'ell! What're ya tryin'a do, gimme a bloody heart attack? Jesus bloody Christ, Hauser!" Mel clutched at her chest, glaring. Without thinking, she punched him hard on the shoulder.

He gave her an apologetic grin. "Sorry. I didn't mean to startle you."

With an irritated grunt, Mel waited until her heart had slowed to a more reasonable pace before speaking. "Forget it," she muttered. "I didn' 'ear ya come in, that's all."

She looked at her watch, blinking when she saw it was close to 12.30. She'd been sitting here longer than she'd realised; she'd been so engrossed in reading about the Dreadnoks that the others could've come back already, and she wouldn't have even noticed.

"Sorry," he said again, gesturing to the bag on the table. "Peace offering? I thought you might be hungry."

Mel glanced sideways at him, then hooked a finger into the bag handle and pulled it closer to her. Duke was right: she _was_ hungry. She realised she hadn't eaten anything since the dodgy breakfast on the plane - after her 'escape attempt' at LAX she hadn't been allowed anything - not because Duke was an arse, but because it was all for show - and she still hadn't been hungry on the flight to JFK. The dodgy breakfast must've put her off.

And it wasn't like she could just get up and walk out of the room. As far as the hotel staff knew, she was under constant guard, possibly handcuffed to a radiator, or under the bathroom sink, or something. She was essentially on lockdown - she couldn't even order herself room service.

The bag itself was wet inside, the steam from the meals condensing on the plastic and sticking it to the two slightly damp cardboard noodle boxes. A delicious aroma wafted up; Mel's stomach rumbled loudly as soon as she smelled it. "Phwoar, that smells so _good_!"

"I didn't know what you like," Duke admitted, sitting opposite her and sliding some of the papers aside. "There's sweet-and-sour or satay. Your pick."

Mel opened the boxes to see which was which. "I'll 'ave the sweet-an'-sour, if ya don' mind."

"Sure." Duke reached over and grabbed the other box. "So, how're you going?"

Mel passed him a pair of chopsticks. "Okay," she answered with a casual shrug. She looked at her own chopsticks for a moment, then shook her head and tossed them aside. She crossed the room to the kitchen, grabbed a fork, then returned to her seat.

Duke raised an eyebrow at her.

"So I never got the hang'a chopsticks," she said unashamedly. "Sue me."

He chuckled, and for a few minutes they ate in a silence that wasn't quite comfortable…but it wasn't awkward, either. Mel had gotten used to Conrad 'Duke' Hauser over the last couple of days, even if she _had_ been pretending to be a convicted criminal under arrest for several charges of aggravated assault and arson.

"You did well today," Duke said, raising his eyes to her over his noodle box. "I almost believed you couldn't stand me."

Mel tucked a lock of hair behind her ear, although it wasn't long enough and it fell back over her face a second later, making her huff impatiently. "What makes ya think I _can_?" she asked.

"You're trying not to grin," he pointed out. "I can tell. Come on, I'm not all _that_ bad, am I?" He paused, then raised an eyebrow. "For a…what's the term, Bludd says it all the time…'bloody Yank'?"

She allowed her wry grin to show. "_You_ said it, not me."

"You're okay in my book, too. For an Australian."

"Oi," she said, pointing playfully at him with her fork. "Unlike old cartoons would like ya ta think, we're not _all_ bad."

His eyes crinkled at the corners as he smiled. "Although you _did_ whack me across the head with a briefcase."

"Ah. You reckon that was a bit much?"

He shook his head. "I wasn't expecting it," he admitted, "but it was a nice touch. Just shows you're good at improvising."

"Kinda hafta be, doin' what I do."

"Yeah, I guess you do."

They ate quietly for a few more minutes, until Mel looked up suddenly and gestured to his split lip, feeling she should say something about it. "Hey, ya know I didn' mean that, don'tcha?"

"Yeah, I know," he said. "Don't worry. I've had worse, trust me. Speaking of which, how're your wrists?"

Mel looked down at the red marks that still hadn't entirely faded. "They'll be right," she said, waving a hand dismissively. "Bit sore, but I'm not complainin'. 'S all parta the job, eh?" She grinned and repeated his reassurance back to him. "Don't worry. I've 'ad worse, trust me."

Duke chuckled, then leaned forward quickly as his noodles almost slipped through his chopsticks. He glanced up at her, a sheepish expression on his face.

"Yeah, I saw that," she said with a snigger.

"Damn."

She made a show of eating quite easily with her fork. "Sure ya don' want one?"

"No thanks." Duke smiled at her again.

Damn, she could get used to him looking at her like that. Maybe she should offer to buy him that beer _now_…the bar fridge _was_ stocked up, after all.

"You know this is gonna be dangerous," he said suddenly, fixing his sharp blue eyes on her.

Mel frowned at him, a little taken aback by conversation's sudden change of direction. She'd been having fun getting her flirt on. She didn't get to do it often - not sincerely, anyway. "Yeah, I know."

Duke nodded. "Good. The Dreadnoks are stupid, but the men they work for aren't."

She rolled her eyes impatiently. "I _have_ done this before, ya know. It _is_ me primary specialty," she said indignantly.

The big man shot her a stern look. "You've never dealt with Cobra before."

Okay. The beer was off, and so was the flirt. Mel very deliberately put her noodle box on the table, before she crushed it in her hands and got smooshed sweet-and-sour noodles all over her.

Who the hell did this guy think he was? For god's sake, she'd got the drop on _him_ at the airport, hadn't she? Wasn't he supposed to be the best of the elite, or whatever that General Hawk fella had told her?

Well…okay, so technically Duke _had_ known she was going to make an escape attempt at one point. He just hadn't known _when_. It was all part of the plan - she'd needed to draw attention to herself. The security camera which had been almost directly above her when he'd tackled her on the conveyor belt was a bonus.

At least he'd admitted she'd surprised him with the briefcase. That was worth something, wasn't it?

Nah. All those special forces guys were the same - at least, all the ones _she'd_ met were - and apparently, this 'G.I Joe' team, the man called Hawk had said, were chosen from the very _best_ of the best. Rangers, Marines, Navy SEALs…

"Look," Duke said, his voice placating. He held up his hands, palms toward her. "I don't doubt your skills -"

"Good," Mel interrupted obstinately.

"And Hawk wouldn't have picked you for the job if he didn't think you could handle it. I'm just saying: Cobra's not your average terrorist organisation."

"'E _did_ give me the briefin', Duke," she pointed out irritably.

"I get that," Duke insisted patiently. "I just don't think you're -"

"Look, if you have a problem with me doing this, I need to know," she interrupted, enunciating each word clearly so he'd understand her point through her Australian accent. Compared to the Americans, her accent sounded harsh and ugly. And sometimes, when she forgot who she was talking to and said something colloquial, they didn't know what she meant - like before, when she'd asked Roadblock where he was going for tea. He'd thought she meant tea as in the drink, and had given her a weird look. Mel had had to rephrase her question as 'Where're ya goin' for _dinner_?' before he clicked.

Duke shook his head quickly. "I don't have a problem. I've read your files, I know you're the best choice for the job - after one of us."

Mel raised an eyebrow and leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms. "So, what you're sayin' is ya don' trust me coz I'm not a Joe."

He put a hand to his head, closing his eyes and rubbing at his temples. "That's not what I meant. I just…I want you to be careful, that's all."

She scoffed irascibly. "I know how ta do my job, Hauser, an' I've managed pretty damn well so far. So don't _you_ go tryin' ta tell me how ta do it, alright?" Mel stood and began gathering up the files and papers on the table. "I'm gonna call it a night."

Duke pushed his chair back as well. "Mel -"

She shook her head and glanced up at him. "I've been goin' over these for hours, Duke. I'm jetlagged, my eyes're gettin' sore, an' if I don't get some sleep I'm gonna get a _killer_ headache."

He stacked some folders up and passed them to her. "I have aspirin if you want some?"

Mel stopped just short of snatching the dossiers rudely from his hands. "Nah, I'll be right." She paused, then added, "But thanks anyway."

With the paperwork held tightly to her chest, she turned her back on Duke and headed to the fridge to stick her noodles in, then headed for the bedroom that Scarlett had told her was hers - the second one down the hall. There were three bedrooms - Duke was staying in one, Scarlett in the other. The rest of the Joes were staying in a separate apartment.

Duke followed her to the bedroom door. "Your spare clothes are in the closet," he said, leaning against the frame with his arms crossed. "They'll probably be more comfortable than what you've got on."

Mel stopped and sighed inwardly. She wanted to stay angry with him for being an arrogant arsehole - but he hadn't really _been_ an arrogant arsehole, had he? He'd only been trying to help her get her head around Cobra, and she'd just taken it the wrong way.

She turned and offered him a small smile. It wasn't quite apologetic, but it was all he was going to get. "Thanks, Hauser."

He nodded, accepting the smile for the peace offering it was. "Get some sleep. You've still got a lot of reading to do. There'll be at least one of us around tomorrow if you have any questions."

"'Kay."

For a moment, they just stood there looking at each other. Then, with one more nod of his head, Duke closed the door quietly behind him.

Mel closed her eyes for a few seconds, puffing out her cheeks and blowing a long breath out. Damn, he was lucky he was such a good-looking bloke. Otherwise, she might not have let him get away with all that 'just be careful' bullshit. She wondered if Scarlett had to put up with that crap.

Probably not. Scarlett was a Joe, too.

Sighing, Mel slapped the large pile of folders on the bedside table, then pulled open the small wardrobe. Hanging up inside were a couple of t-shirts, one black and one white, and two pairs of jeans - not almost frayed to pieces, like the ones she was still wearing. She checked the tags - they were exactly the right size. Of course. She pulled the white t-shirt out and changed into it, folding her cut off singlet and ragged jeans and chucking them over the end of the bed. She hadn't been lying when she'd told Duke she was tired - despite her long sleep on the flight to LAX, she was still absolutely wrecked, and her wrists were aching more than she'd wanted to admit.

She clicked the light off and sank onto the big bed gratefully, stretching out as much as she could and putting all thoughts of the day, Duke and her job from her mind, focusing on nothing more than her breathing and the darkness behind her eyelids. She'd gotten very good at that over the years - if she hadn't, she'd never be able to sleep at all.

Mel was so tired that she didn't even bother slipping beneath the covers. She just drifted off where she was, her head not even on the pillows.

* * *

><p>Duke sat at the table, finishing off his satay noodles silently - after ditching the chopsticks and getting a fork from the kitchen drawer.<p>

Mel was the right choice for the job, he was sure of that. And of course he trusted Hawk's judgment - Hawk had handpicked her from a list of possible candidates, after all. She was, strategically, the perfect choice; an unknown young, attractive Australian girl…hell, she already had the personality down, and when Lady Jaye and Covergirl were done with her, she'd look the part.

Well, more than she already did. Duke had found his eyes drawn more than once to the starry tattoos.

Whether she could pull _this_ off, though…that was another matter. She'd gone deep before, but never without a support network close by, whether she needed it or not. There'd been two incidents; one which was no fault of her own, the other which she'd been responsible for - she'd let slip some information she shouldn't have, and as a result the entire op was almost blown. She'd patched it up though - again, showing her improvisational skills - and while it'd been messy, she'd finished the job.

That was why Hawk had picked her. She finished what she started, even when it got tough. That was why Hawk had her commanding officer call her to his office - and why she'd apparently almost had a heart attack when she thought she'd walked in on a meeting between two generals, _way_ above her pay grade.

That was why, three days ago, Duke had planted evidence in her apartment leading to several entirely fictional assaults and fires, and links to the motorcycle club known as the Dreadnoks. She'd watched him the whole time, even suggesting places to hide the bikie gear and the weapons, and then he'd reiterated the briefing Hawk had given her.

The next day, Duke had approached her as she went to get in her car in the apartment building's parking lot, holding up a fake FBI badge with one hand, the other hand on the grip of his very real gun. It was loaded with blanks, but even Mel hadn't known that.

The look on her face when she'd run into him at the airport, when he'd grabbed her and held the gun to her back - either she was a very good actress, or he'd scared her a little. The thought made him feel a little guilty; sure, it was part of the job…but he didn't want her to look at him that way again. Those eyes of hers were too pretty to be filled with fear.

Duke glanced up as he heard three quick knocks on the door followed by two slow ones. That would be Scarlett, letting him know she was friendly - Scarlett was the only other Joe who had a key card of her own.

The door opened, and she walked in. The redhead's eyes scanned the room.

"Mel's gone to bed," Duke explained, keeping his voice down. "She was getting a headache."

Scarlett gave him a look, a slight smirk playing across her lips.

"Don't look at me like that. You know what I mean," he added, exasperated.

Scarlett held up her hands defensively. "I didn't say anything," she pointed out.

"You were thinking it."

Scarlett flopped down on the couch, grinning up at him over the back. "I don't know _what_ you're talking about."

Duke sighed and perched on the arm of the sofa. "You do," he said firmly. "And you are _completely _wrong."

"Duke, I think I know you well enough to know the signs," Scarlett said softly. "And I can _smell_ the dinner you bought her. What'd you go for, noodles?"

He rolled his eyes. "What was I gonna do, let her starve? She hadn't eaten all day."

"I like Mel," Scarlett continued, ignoring him. "She's got guts."

"Shana," he said warningly.

Scarlett raised her hands again. "Alright, alright. I'm just saying." She sniggered and looked up at him through her lashes, something that always used to drive him crazy. "Anyway, I know you like a challenge."

Duke shook his head and stood. "Good_night_, Shana."

He could hear the smug, know-it-all tone in her voice as he strode past her. "Night, Duke."


	3. Chapter 3

Another chapter! This is the last one that I've got written up...I've lost my head start! Chapter Four is about halfway done - the good thing is I know what's happening in the next one. After that...who knows?

Gonna put a disclaimer in, since I think I forgot it at the start - G.I Joe does not belong to me. I could never come up with something so awesome :D

Thanks for all the reviews, and to the people who put up with my emails and PMs, heh heh.

* * *

><p>"Ripper."<p>

"Real name, Harry Nod. From Tassie -" Mel glanced up. "That's Tasmania, sorry -"

"I kinda figured that."

"- prefers blades, specifically a bayonet attached to a rifle. Possible military background. Has some basic accountin' skills - an' some safecrackin' skills, just in case the numbers get too complicated."

The stunning blonde woman standing behind Mel nodded as she folded another lock of bleach-covered hair into a square of foil. "And Torch?"

"Tom Winken. New South Wales. Pretty much illiterate, yet some'ow manages ta run Uncle Winken's Hard Grape Soda company at a profit. Former member of the Melbourne Maulers an' Merchant Navy. Favoured weapon's an oxyacetylene torch or a flamethrower."

"Good. More stripes?"

Mel studied her reflection in the bathroom mirror. Her boring brown hair was gone; the gorgeous blonde - Covergirl, a former model turned tank jockey - had dyed it a deep blue-black. Now, she and the brunette woman beside her, Lady Jaye, were bleaching sections back to the natural brown, so they could put _more_ bleach on them to turn them peroxide-blonde. After that, they'd use the two bottles of temporary colour sitting on the bathroom counter - a hideously bright green and a not-too-bad purple - to colour the streaks. "Yeeeaaah, more stripes," she agreed. "Why not?"

"I like your thinking, Mel." Grinning, Covergirl began to separate another lock of hair with the comb handle.

Mel sat back in her seat and closed her eyes, taking a deep breath, only to get a whiff of the bleach and sneeze.

"_Gesundheit_," Lady Jaye said, finishing another foil. "Hmm…another one here, you think?"

"Yep," Covergirl said. "And one there, too…"

Mel blocked out the two women's voices - not because they were annoying; she liked Lady Jaye and Covergirl - but because she needed to start sorting out her character. Up until now, it had just been the studying, reading file after file again and again, asking questions of Duke, Scarlett, or whoever was 'guarding' her.

Now, though, she had to figure _herself_ out. Tomorrow was the day; tomorrow, she was going in. It would be somewhat of a relief - for the last two days, Mel had been stuck in the apartment. It wasn't all bad - it was comfortable, she had people to talk to and ask questions of if she needed to clear something up, she could take a break when she needed to. But she was getting antsy. She'd read all the files, over and over, she'd sorted out her cover story…apart from her appearance, she was almost ready to go.

Although…she kind of wished she could spend more time with Duke.

He hadn't been there when she'd woken up the morning after they had dinner. Mel had walked out of her bedroom, bleary-eyed, still jetlagged and wearing the white t-shirt and one of the good pairs of jeans she'd found in the closet. She'd ambled out into the kitchen barefoot, scratching her head and no doubt looking like a complete bogan.

There'd been a blonde man she didn't know sitting at the table. He'd introduced himself first as Kenneth Rich, then told her his codename was Psyche Out - he was a psychologist in G.I Joe.

After grimacing at her breakfast of leftover noodles - it looked like he was holding back a lecture - he'd sat down with her and gone over all the Dreadnok's files and her own notes, as well as some profiles that he'd made up of both Dreadnoks and Cobra troops during his time with the Joes. The psychologist had approved of her method of learning - not that she'd been worried about him approving anything. Though she _had_ thought about asking him to tell Duke.

They'd just finished up with the three main Joes - Buzzer, Ripper and Torch, who somehow managed to make it out of every scrape they got into - when Scarlett emerged from her own room, tousle-haired and pretty even in her pyjamas, and sat down to help. For her and the other Joes, babysitting Mel was an easy job, practically a vacation.

At least, it would be until they had to move out.

That night, Scarlett had flicked on the TV, and the first thing Mel had seen was an extremely unflattering still shot of her own face, captured from the surveillance camera at LAX. She sat down next to the giggling redhead, swearing profusely at the news anchor who was making it sound like she'd gone on a bloody murderous rampage rather than just shoving a few people out of the way.

Still…that had been the plan. She was _supposed_ to draw attention to herself.

Mel hadn't seen Duke at all that day, and she wasn't ashamed to admit she'd been a little disappointed. He'd gone out early, and she'd heard the five knocks on the door before it opened just as she was getting into bed.

He'd been there the next day - yesterday. He was sitting on the couch watching TV when she walked out of her room; when she'd walked past he gave her a quick smile. There was no mention of the conversation they'd had the other night…and Mel wasn't going to bring it up if he didn't.

She and Duke spent most of the morning working through her cover story - even though most of it was already worked out. All she needed were the fine points, the little details that made all the difference. Duke had them, of course, all neatly printed out in yet another manila folder - charges against her, details of the assaults, stuff like that. If she'd had to, she could've made it up on the spot - she'd always been a good bullshit artist - but Hawk and Duke left nothing to chance.

Sitting beside Duke at the table, Mel could smell his deodorant, or aftershave, or whatever he wore; he smelled good. And he'd been dressed casually again, in the jeans and the hoodie. She may have checked his arse out on more than one occasion.

Still, Mel knew she couldn't let her attraction to him get in her way. She was about to go _deep_ - there was no telling how long it would be for, or what she might have to do…or what might happen to her.

But hell, he was just so damn _hot_.

Not that Mel was superficial. Well, not unless superficial was called for, but that was different. Duke seemed to be an all-round good guy.

"And…done," Covergirl said, folding up another square of foil with a flourish. "Now we just have to wait another thirty minutes."

Mel groaned. "An' then wash it all out, then do it all again, then do it _again_ with the green an' purple." She sighed, then wrinkled her lightly freckled nose. "Can we get outta this bathroom? I think I'm gettin' a bit high."

Covergirl grinned at her, and she and Jaye stood aside so Mel could move. She headed out into the kitchen, grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge.

The two Joe women followed her out. "Okay, so you've got the three main Dreadnoks," Lady Jaye said. "How about one of the - for want of a better phrase - one of the lesser known guys? Like…Zanzibar?"

Mel nodded, rustling the foil pieces in her hair. "Morgan Teach, pirate wannabe," she said promptly. "Low even by Dreadnok standards, an' that's pretty damn sad if ya ask me. 'E's a glorified pickpocket, really."

"Pretty much," Jaye agreed. She settled herself on the couch. "So. Mel."

Uh oh. That sounded suspicious. "Yeah…?" she asked warily.

"You're from Melbourne, right?"

Mel chuckled at Jaye's pronunciation; Mel-born, rather than Mel-ben. She sat on the couch beside Jaye; Covergirl sprawled out comfortably on the floor. "Yeah, I'm from Melbourne."

Maybe it'd be good to take her mind off work for a little while. At least until it was time to wash the bleach from her hair.

* * *

><p>Mel did a pretty decent double take - again - when she caught a glimpse of herself in the bathroom mirror. She had to admit, Covergirl and Lady Jaye had done a good job; she hardly even recognised herself. Her choppy brown hair was now choppy blue-black hair, with streaks of bright green and purple that stood out a mile. Her fingernails matched; Covergirl had painted them fluoro green, then swiped a layer of purple over the top, which had crackled, allowing the green to show through.<p>

Mel felt very eighties punk.

The two ladies had spent most of the day in the apartment; they'd left about an hour ago. Mel had been rereading her notes on the Dreadnoks, just in case anything else jumped out at her. Nothing had; she had all the important stuff memorised already. Everything else she could get away with not knowing - it wouldn't raise questions if she didn't know something like, say…Torch's favourite drink.

Grape soda and chocolate ice cream float. But she only really remembered _that_ because it was just gross.

Since Jaye and Covergirl had left, Mel had been wandering around the apartment, trying to keep herself occupied. It was always like this just before an op - she felt at odds with herself, stuck halfway between the person she was and the person she was pretending to be. She _did_ get nervous, but that was a good thing - somebody had once told her that when she stopped getting nervous, she should rethink her career.

She wasn't nervous…not yet. The jitters would creep up on her later, though. It wouldn't matter how much she tried to clear her mind tonight; she knew she wouldn't get much sleep.

Mel threw herself down on the couch and picked up the magazine Covergirl had left her. She put it down again after quickly flipping through and not reading any of it. She'd done enough reading over the last couple of days to last her a little while - there were a _lot_ of files on the Dreadnoks and Cobra, and some of it was the _weirdest_ stuff she'd ever seen.

She stretched out on the couch, snatched up the remote and turned the TV on. She flicked from channel to channel for a while before finally settling on the last thirty minutes of _Macgyver_.

Ah, Macgyver. He was still awesome.

* * *

><p>The familiar knock sounded on the door just as the credits started rolling. Mel started to get up, but then leaned back as she heard it open.<p>

"You're kidding, right?" Duke sounded like he was grinning. "Macgyver?"

"Oi," she said playfully, glancing over the back of the couch to see him standing by the door. "Do _not_ mock Macgyver, Hauser."

His eyebrows raised when he saw her, and for a moment he just stared. Then, he raised his hands and dipped his head a little in surrender. "Sorry," he said, chuckling. "I promise I won't mock Macgyver."

"Good." She switched the TV off and got up, grinning at the expression on his face.

He looked her up and down, studying her. "Well…you certainly look the part," he said. "I bet Covergirl and Lady Jaye had fun."

"Yeah, just a bit," she said, chuckling. "Jeez, they can talk, can't they?"

His eyes lingered on her slightly longer than necessary. It wasn't exactly noticeable, but Mel had learned to pick up on things like that - small changes in body language, inflections in voices. Sometimes, even the slightest nod of the head could mean the difference between life and death - she'd seen it before.

And anyway - Duke was easy to read. He had no reason to hide anything…not while he was here. Mel was certain he'd be different in the field; Covergirl and Lady Jaye had told her earlier that the G.I Joe's first shirt was a real hardarse.

Mel sniggered and twirled on the spot, giving him an all-round view, then stuck her hands in his face so he could see her garish nails - the purple and green had grown on her. "See?"

He grasped her wrists and pulled her hands away from his face so he could see clearly, then shook his head.

"What, don'tcha like it?" she asked.

Duke shook his head. "Not particularly, no," he answered bluntly. His voice had a slightly disapproving tone to it.

She rolled her eyes. "Well, it's lucky ya don't '_ave_ ta, then, innit?" she said, a little more indignantly than she'd intended.

He opened his mouth, then closed it again. "I'm just saying I don't like the _look_," he said quietly, tugging gently on a lock of green hair before flipping it away from her eyes. "If I didn't know better, I'd think you really _were _a Dreadnok."

"Uh…that's the whole damn _point_, Hauser," she said dryly, raising an eyebrow.

He sighed. "I know," he said. "But that doesn't mean I _have_ to like it, right?"

Mel scowled at him, pushed past him and stalked to the fridge. "You still don' reckon I can do it, do ya?"

"It's not that -"

"What, then?" she snapped. "Maybe ya shoulda just got Scarlett ta go in; ya obviously trust 'er more'n me." Mel yanked the fridge door open, sticking her head right in so she didn't have to look at him. The cold air felt good on her burning face - she was so annoyed, she was sure she'd turned bright red.

"The Dreadnoks know Scarlett," Duke pointed out patiently. "The Dreadnoks know _most_ of us. Mel, if I - if _we_ - didn't trust you, you wouldn't be here."

She closed her eyes for a brief moment, calming herself as she blew out a long breath. Now wasn't the time to start holding grudges. She opened her mouth -

"Mel."

She froze as Duke's hand covered hers. He pulled her away from the fridge and let it swing shut. The wheezy hiss the door made as it sealed was very loud in the sudden silence.

Duke turned her slowly to face him. "It's just the look," he repeated. "Everything else…I like everything else very much. That's why I want you to be careful."

Smooth…but Mel wasn't going to make it easy for him. "Ya know, I'm gettin' kinda sicka you sayin' that."

Duke flapped his arms in frustration. "Well, what the hell else _can_ I say?"

She looked up at him. He met her eyes.

_Aw, just bloody do it. Ya know ya wanna._

Without warning, she hooked her hands behind his neck and pulled him toward her, tipping her head up and kissing him unashamedly.

He gave a small grunt of surprise, and for a moment he just stood there doing nothing. Apparently, he hadn't been expecting it. Grinning against his lips, Mel slipped one hand down to his broad chest, gathering a handful of his shirt. He tentatively reached for her, his fingertips lightly resting on her hips as he softly kissed her back. He tasted of coffee.

She could've stood there like that all night. She _wanted_ to…especially when it seemed like he wanted the same thing. Instead, she pulled away. As she stepped back, she realised that she'd been standing on her tiptoes.

Smiling slightly at the look on Duke's face - an amusing, really quite adorable mixture of 'you shouldn't've done that' and 'why'd you stop?' - Mel leaned her elbows on the kitchen counter. "I just wanted ta do that before I went. You know…just in case. No regrets."

He gave a soft laugh, turning around and leaning his butt against the bench beside her. "Right. So, nothing personal?"

Mel glanced sideways at him. Had he sounded a little…disappointed? "Well, I s'pose it depends."

"On what?" he pressed. He fixed her with an intense blue stare.

"On whether ya decide ta kick me arse or not. You're my commandin' officer, Duke; doesn' matter where I'm from or what I've gotta do. But just so ya know, I'm not gonna 'pologise for it. You know what I do; any day could be me last. So when I see somethin' I like…" Mel trailed off with a dismissive shrug. It didn't really matter what Duke decided; it would have to wait until after the op. In less than twelve hours they'd be on the move, and both of them would have bigger things to worry about.

Like staying alive.

To her surprise, Duke chuckled quietly. "I'm not gonna kick your ass, Mel," he assured her. "You might've noticed I didn't exactly stop you."

"Oh, I noticed," she said, biting her bottom lip to keep the satisfied grin off her face. It didn't quite work - Duke laughed again as she ducked her head and smiled at her hands instead.

Mel couldn't help herself. She started sniggering softly, and in a few moments she burst out laughing, as well. She had no idea _why_ she was laughing…but it was fun, and Duke was grinning, too.

She fell silent eventually, wiping at her eyes. "Aaah. Right, then."

"Uh huh," Duke said.

They stood in easy silence for a few seconds.

"So…why not?" Mel asked suddenly, glancing sideways at him.

"Hm?"

"Why _din'tcha_ stop me? Kissin' ya, I mean."

Again, Duke met her eyes. Then he turned and reached his arm across her body, trapping her against the counter. "You're not the only one who sees something they like," he murmured, leaning close.

Mel blinked, surprised, as he took her chin in his hand and kissed her again, more insistently than before. He stepped closer to her, pushing her back against the bench. The square edge of the counter dug into the small of her back uncomfortably, but right now she couldn't have cared less.

She was sure he could feel her heart beating in her chest. It was the only thing she couldn't control; she could keep her breath in check, she could hold back her emotions. They were running hot at the moment - she was definitely thinking things she shouldn't be. Like what she wanted Duke to do with his hands, where _else_ she wanted him to kiss…how it would feel to have him push her down onto the big bed in her room…

But she really needed to stop that. She was starting her mission tomorrow, and she had to keep her mind on the job. "Duke," she said, reluctantly pushing her hands against his chest.

"I know," he answered, closing his eyes and shaking his head. "I shouldn't have done that."

"Actually, I'm kinda glad ya did," she admitted.

For a moment, Duke just stood there looking at her. Then he gave a small, huffing laugh as he shook his head again. "Maybe I _should_ kick your ass," he said good-naturedly.

"Oi, that one was _your_ fault, not mine," she retorted.

He was about to answer when they heard the knock on the door. It opened, and Mel looked around to see Scarlett smiling - smiling _suspiciously_ - at them both. "What's going on here?" she asked - her tone suggested that she knew _exactly_ what was going on.

Duke let go of Mel quickly. Unable to help herself, Mel smiled back at Scarlett cheekily. "Nuthin'," she answered, giving the redhead a wink. "I'm gonna go 'ave a shower - no tellin' how long it'll be til I get another one, if what I read 'bout Dreadnok hygiene's correct."

She turned, clapping Duke on the shoulder. He was still standing a little too close to her to be casual. "Reckon I might go ta bed afta that. Big day tomorrow, eh?"

"Yeah," Duke agreed. "Big day."

Mel headed off down the hall to the bathroom. Once she was inside, with the door locked behind her, she heaved a long sigh.

She might need to run the shower cold for a few minutes.

* * *

><p>"Don't look at me like that."<p>

"Like what?" Scarlett asked, far too innocently for Duke's liking. He shot her a look, frowning when all she did was grin mischievously at him.

"We should get some rest, too," he said abruptly.

"Aw, Duke, you're no fun."

Duke shook his head at Scarlett in exasperation, stalking past her toward the hall.

"You know, you _can_ admit you like her," she called after him. "It wouldn't kill you to actually _say_ it."

He turned. "That's enough, Scarlett," he said sternly.

She raised her hands defensively - but, wisely, she didn't say anything else. Not that he knew what he would've answered with if she had.

Duke strode quickly past the bathroom, trying to ignore the sound of the running water, and closed his bedroom door behind him.

_Dammit_.

Mel shouldn't have kissed him. He shouldn't have _let_ her kiss him; not only was he her commanding officer, but they had a major mission starting tomorrow. Neither of them could afford distractions, but she was more at risk than he was. It was _her_ life that would be on the line every second of the mission - he and the others were only extras setting the stage.

But she did have a point. Any day _could_ be her last.

And he wasn't exactly blameless in this situation, either. _You're not the only one who sees something they like? Really?_

Duke smiled wryly to himself as he pulled open his closet to make sure his monkey suit wasn't wrinkled. Trust him to have a thing for Mel - he'd always liked a woman who knew what she wanted and had the guts to go for it. Scarlett had been one of those women…but she was spoken for, and HE respected that; as soon as Duke realised Shana and the black-clad ninja, Snake Eyes, were together, he'd backed off. Snake Eyes was a good man who'd been through a lot - he deserved every bit of happiness he could get. Not to mention that he could probably kill Duke ten times over before he hit the ground.

Duke had been flirting with Mel; he wouldn't deny that. He _was_ attracted to her: she was pretty, intelligent, she could hold her own when a situation got hot…and it was surprising just how damn cute an Australian accent could be when it wasn't coming from a Dreadnok. Mel had a dry sense of humour, and most of the time she was pretty laid-back.

Most of the time. When she wasn't pushing his buttons…or getting her back up because he'd pushed hers.

Duke shook his head to himself. Scarlett had been right; he _did_ like a challenge. And Mel was definitely a challenge.

But just because he was attracted to her was no excuse. He should've stopped her. And he definitely _shouldn't_ have kissed her that second time. She'd been right to push him away.

Duke sighed.

_Dammit_.


	4. Chapter 4

LONG WEEKEND! YAAAAAY! Now I can sleep all day - since I've been up all night writing this chapter...I'm wrecked.

So, since I can't think of much else to say, enjoy! And thanks to everyone who read, reviewed, PM'd and emailed! You know who you are...right now, I can't think of names...

* * *

><p>"Dingo."<p>

"Yep."

"Seriously?"

"Yep."

"As in, 'a dingo ate my' -"

"Yep. Actually, it was 'a dingo _got_ my baby', but anyway…"

Rock 'n' Roll shook his head. "That's sick," he said.

Mel grinned at him. "It's _fittin'_," she corrected. "The Dreadnok's'll love it."

The entire group of Joes was assembled in the apartment - Scarlett, Rock 'n' Roll, Roadblock, Clutch…and Duke, of course. The other Joes - including Psyche Out, Lady Jaye and Covergirl - were already waiting outside the hotel. They'd provide an 'escort' for the dark blue sedan that Duke and Mel would be riding in…driven by Clutch, of course.

As she'd expected, Mel hadn't got much sleep last night. She'd woken up first at three in the morning, then again at four, and once again at five. After that, she hadn't bothered trying to get back to sleep; instead, she got up and sat at the kitchen table, going over her notes one last time, while she had the chance. Scarlett joined her soon after, and had sat quietly with her. Mel hadn't felt much like talking - she was beginning to feel the first butterflies fluttering around in her belly. It happened every time, just before the start of a mission; once she was actually _out_ there, she was fine.

Well…as fine as she could be under the differing circumstances.

Still, Mel was getting impatient. She just wanted to get _on_ with it.

The others had wandered into the room - after knocking, of course - at around seven. Roadblock had taken the liberty of ordering breakfast for them all, although he'd had it delivered to the room he, Rock 'n' Roll and Clutch were sharing, and they'd brought it in with them. Couldn't have the hotel staff thinking Mel was getting spoiled. She'd indulged in several pancakes with sugar and maple syrup and two glasses of orange juice; Scarlett had made a crack about her having the sugary diet of a Dreadnok already.

Mel felt a hand on her shoulder and glanced up to see Duke returning her gaze. "Time ta go?" she asked.

He nodded. "Time to go."

She pushed her chair back and grinned. "I'll go get changed. Don' leave without me, will ya's?"

Clutch sniggered. "We'd be pretty screwed if we did," he pointed out.

"True."

Before she could head to her room to change from her t-shirt and good jeans into her ripped jeans and singlet, Duke grabbed her arm. "When you're done, there are a few last minute things I want to go through."

She nodded. "Yeah, 'kay."

* * *

><p>Mel studied herself in the full-length mirror mounted on the inside of the wardrobe door. Her choppy black, green and purple hair stuck out around her head messily, framing her round, lightly-freckled face. Her shredded jeans fit her hips snugly; the cut-off blue singlet showed off a flat stomach - and the star tattoos, of course. She crossed to the bed and sat on the edge, leaning over to pull her heavy black biker boots on.<p>

"Mel?"

Now that she was alone, Duke's voice immediately brought to mind the two kisses they'd shared the night before. She allowed herself a small smile at the pleasant memory: Duke's lips on hers, surprisingly soft, his muscular body pinning her against the kitchen bench.

Aaaand…that was enough of _that_. "Yeah?" she called.

He hesitantly opened the door, his eyes lowered.

"I'm dressed, Hauser," she said with a chuckle. "Ya can look."

He snuck a quick glance - as if he didn't believe her and expected her to be sitting on the bed naked, or something - not that that wasn't a tempting idea. "Right."

"Don' sound so disappointed."

He looked at her sharply. "I'm not -"

"That was a joke." She grinned. "You _are_ allowed'a laugh every now an' then, ya know."

Needless to say, he didn't even crack a smile. He just shot her a pointed look.

"Oh-_kay_," she said slowly. She finished tying her laces and sat up straight, slapping her hands on her knees - one of them bare through the rips in her jeans. "So, what're these last minute things ya wanna talk about?"

"Actually, it's just this." Duke reached into his pocket, pulled out a slip of paper and offered it to her. "Memorise it."

"Wha'ssis?" she asked, raising an eyebrow. "Ya phone number? Do I hafta eat it when I'm done, or will it self-destruct?"

The big man frowned at her. "Don't be a smartass, Mel," he said. "Not now."

He had a point - now wasn't the time for it. Mel unfolded the paper to see two short words - but she had no idea what they said. "What the bloody 'ell's this? Russian?" She snorted. "I can't read Russian, Duke."

"You don't _need_ to read it," he explained. "Just memorise it. One of the Joes who'll contact you is mute; this will be how you know he's one of us."

Mel raised an eyebrow. "Course 'e's mute," she said dryly. She stared at the note - it'd been handwritten. "Did you write this?"

He nodded.

"I didn't know ya know Russian," she said. It probably shouldn't have surprised her.

He finally gave her a smile and rattled off something in the language - then abruptly changed to French, followed by German.

"Alright already, ya bloody show off." Mel cut him off and waved her hand at him impatiently, still trying to make sense of the writing. Eventually, her curiosity got the better of her. "So…what's it say?"

"Does it matter?"

She gave him an even look. "Prob'ly not," she admitted, shrugging, "but I wanna know, anyway." Of course she wanted to know - he'd tried to avoid answering.

Well, that and the fact that it was kind of a turn on that he could speak so many languages.

Duke met her eyes. "It says, 'got you."

The words were loaded. She heard it in his voice. She must've made an impression last night.

Mel stood and handed the paper back to him - stepping a little closer than necessary, letting her fingers linger on his a little longer than she needed to. Damn, she wanted to kiss him, to see if he was coffee-flavoured again.

"You ready?" he asked quietly, tilting his head down to her. She felt his breath on the top of her head.

No matter how much you studied, or how long you had to make up your cover story, you could never be fully prepared for a mission like this. There was only so much that the gruelling training she'd undertaken could prepare her for. She was about to walk into the lion's den, to head straight for the part of the map that read 'here there be monsters'.

Her cover could be blown. She could be taken prisoner, held hostage, tortured for information.

She could be killed.

Then again, she'd known the risks when she'd taken the job. The danger had been partly what had drawn her to it.

Mel tipped her head up to his and stood on her tiptoes - the only way she could reach him - brushing her lips against his, biting gently on his bottom lip. Yep...coffee-flavoured. He didn't return the kiss - his shoulders relaxed just the tiniest bit, rounding toward her, and he shifted his weight forward slightly.

Mel grinned as she pulled back, holding her wrists up so he could cuff them. "Yeah. _Now_ I'm ready."

* * *

><p>The Joes crowded into the elevator. Mel stood in the middle, dwarfed by Roadblock and Rock 'n' Roll behind her. Duke and Scarlett stood to either side of her - like the top sergeant, Scarlett was also wearing a smart suit…although at least Scarlett's jacket had both sleeves. Duke hadn't got himself a new one, and carried his ripped one over his arm…which was fine by Mel, because his white dress shirt fit him very well. Clutch had gone downstairs a few minutes before them, so he could bring the car around.<p>

Just before the lift reached the first floor, Duke unfolded his jacket. Mel rolled her eyes. "Duke, I really don' think it matters that much if -"

With a smirk that was almost cocky, he chucked the jacket over her head.

"Aren't people _s'posed _ta see me face?" she asked.

"They don't need to," Scarlett answered. "We've made sure the, uh…right…people know that a Dreadnok's been arrested and is being transported in a nondescript vehicle, via some very conveniently open roads, to a secure facility."

"The right people, eh?" Mel jerked her head, trying to flick the jacket off. It wasn't that she didn't trust the Joes - she did, despite having only known them for a short time. She just hated not being able to see anything but her own feet and the jacket's single sleeve swinging in front of her like an elephant's trunk.

"Uh huh." Scarlett sounded like she was grinning. "And this way, the hotel staff won't notice we've given you a makeover." The redhead adjusted the jacket, pulling it further down over Mel's face.

"Alright, alright. Point made," Mel conceded.

The lift slowed to a stop. Scarlett and Duke took a firm hold of Mel's upper arms, and, as the doors pinged open, they frogmarched Mel out.

All Mel could see was the shiny tiles of the hotel lobby floor, her feet, and the odd glimpse of Duke's left foot and Scarlett's right. She heard people muttering as they crossed the big room, and several sharp gasps when people noticed her handcuffs. Behind her, Rock 'n' Roll and Roadblock's boots thudded loudly. They were in casual clothes, as was Clutch - but they were all armed.

Mel felt a cool breeze hit her as one of the Joes opened the hotel door. From there, it was only a few steps to the dark blue car parked directly out the front.

Duke opened the back door. "Watch your head," he said quietly, putting a hand on the top of her head and pushing down. She made a show of resisting - just in case anybody was watching - before slumping into the seat. The door thunked closed behind her.

Mel reached up and pulled Duke's jacket off her head - the sedan's windows were tinted; nobody could see her face now she was in the car. Several people out the front of the hotel were looking at the car curiously. Two more cars were parked in front of the hotel, exactly the same as the dark blue sedan, only black.

Clutch was looking at her over his shoulder; for once, he wasn't grinning. "If things don't go as planned…just know we've got your back."

She nodded as Duke got into the car. "Let's get moving, Clutch," he said, his tone serious. "We've got an ambush to walk into."

* * *

><p>They took back roads - roads with very little traffic, which would not only make it appear that the Joes were in a hurry to get somewhere and didn't want to get stuck in traffic jams, but which would also ensure that there were less civilians to drag into the mess. The last thing they needed was a car full of dead bystanders.<p>

They'd been driving for just under two hours. They were out of the city now…but so far, there'd been no sign of the Dreadnoks. The only motorbike they'd seen was a shiny purple Harley ridden by a guy who looked like he had a severe case of mid-life crisis.

Mel leaned forward between the front seats and looked at Duke, raising an eyebrow. "Well, this's fun," she said dryly.

His eyes scanned the roadsides ahead, watching for any sign of an ambush. The whole plan hinged on the Dreadnoks attacking and 'rescuing' Mel from her handlers.

"Do we 'ave a Plan B?" Mel pressed. "Just in case -"

"This'll work," Duke interrupted firmly. "There's an overpass five miles ahead. I'll bet next month's pay check that's where it'll go down." He turned and fixed her with a pointed gaze, but said nothing.

Mel nodded and sat back, pulling her seatbelt tighter. She took a deep breath, rolling her neck and her right ankle.

Even Clutch fell silent for the next couple of minutes - a miracle, as far as Mel was concerned. The grease monkey made her laugh, but _damn_ he talked a lot. She guessed maybe he was trying to lighten the mood a little; seriousness was coming off Duke in tidal waves. Mel herself wasn't exactly feeling very talkative, either - for the last couple of hours, she'd been running through scenarios in her head. The best case scenario, the worst case scenario, every scenario in between.

Still…there was no telling what was going to happen.

"Here we go," Duke said quietly, gesturing ahead.

Mel looked up to see the overpass looming into view. The road they were following dipped under the hill the overpass was built up on. The road above was empty save for a couple of trucks rumbling toward them.

"See anything?" Clutch asked.

Duke shook his head. "Could be waiting on the other side. Or even up top."

The escort car in front - with Lady Jaye, Covergirl and Psyche Out - was only a short distance in front of Mel, Clutch and Duke; the second escort, with Scarlett, Rock 'n' Roll and Roadblock, followed closely behind. If Duke was right - which, knowing him, he probably was - this was it. The Dreadnoks would make their appearance.

Mel's heart was pounding.

Clutch's knuckles were white on the steering wheel.

Duke's jaw was clenched.

And then the overpass exploded.

Mel hunched down in her seat as concrete, steel and asphalt dented the roof of the car. Clutch swore loudly and swung the wheel hard left, narrowly avoiding a massive chunk of concrete that'd slammed down on the road in front of them. He spun the wheel again, but the tyres couldn't get any purchase on the rubble-covered road - the car spun a full 360 and slammed sideways against the wall with a screech, hard enough to crumple the door inwards. The curtain airbags deployed with a puff, bursting out before Mel's head cracked against the window. It still felt like she'd been punched in the face. She shook her head, dazed. Exploding overpasses had _not_ been in her scenarios.

In the front, Duke groaned and rubbed his shoulder. "Everyone okay?"

"Yeah," Clutch replied distractedly, turning the steering wheel back and forth.

"Uh huh," Mel answered, shoving at the now deflated airbag. "You?" she added.

"I'm fine." Duke turned in his seat, looking over Mel's head and out the rear window. "Here they come!"

She glanced over her shoulder. The second escort car was stopped diagonally across the road, the hood crumpled, flames licking up from underneath it. Two motorbikes roared past it; she recognised the riders.

Buzzer and Torch.

Clutch swore again. "What I wouldn't give for a VAMP right now!"

"You'll have to make do," Duke retorted. "Let's make this look good! Go, go!"

"I'm tryin' ," Clutch shot back through gritted teeth. "I think the wheel pushed in when we hit; it's catchin' underneath the car."

Buzzer and Torch flanked the sedan.

"Hey!" Mel yelled suddenly, unbuckling her seatbelt and scooting over to the other side of the car. The airbags on that side hadn't gone off - she pounded her clenched fists on the window. "Hey, get me outta here!"

Buzzer was outside. He peered in at her, studied her for a moment…and lifted his diamond-toothed chainsaw, swinging it toward the car.

Mel flinched away, blocking her ears at the shrieking sound of ripping metal. "I said get me _out_, not cut me up!" she shouted, banging on the window again.

"Oh, yeah, she'll fit in just perfect," Clutch muttered, glancing over at Duke. "She's just - oh, shit…_oh_ _shit_!"

For a moment, Mel didn't understand what Clutch was swearing at.

Then she heard it; a long, constant blast: a truck horn.

And then the squeal of brakes.

"Aw, ya've gotta be fuckin' _jokin_'." Mel glanced out at Buzzer, then lowered her head so he couldn't see her speaking to the two men in the car. "Uh…seriously, now would be a good time ta move." She made a show of trying to open the door - of course, it didn't budge. Damn child lock.

When she looked up again, Buzzer and Torch were already riding away.

What a surprise.

"Clutch!" Duke said urgently.

"I'm _tryin'_," Clutch said again, working the gears. The sedan jolted backwards a little, something grating underneath. The grease monkey shifted up again, floored the accelerator - and the car lurched forward.

The engine stalled out.

"Come on, baby," Clutch cajoled, turning the key. "Do it for ol' Clutch, now…"

As if to oblige him, the car started up again. Clutch threw it into gear and eased down on the gas. It didn't sound healthy - but the car moved. Fast.

Just in time, too. As Mel watched, wide-eyed, out the back window, the truck - a big, shiny, long-nosed black beast - thundered over the edge of the destroyed overpass. It arced out into thin air, and then it just…dropped. The nose of the truck crumpled back on itself - the driver, if he hadn't jumped clear - had no chance. The trailer crashed down on top. Even though they were a fair distance away, Mel still felt the impact shuddering up through the damaged wheels of the sedan, shaking the entire car. "Wouldja look at -" she started.

She didn't get time to finish. She threw herself down on the seat as a wave of flame washed over the sedan.

"Oh, that's just fuckin' brilliant," Mel complained. "Now they're tryin' ta _fry_ me!" She hammered on the window again. "Hey. _Hey_!"

"Last stretch, Clutch," Duke said. "Let's go."

Clutch slammed his foot on the gas. The tyres screeched on the road and the sedan sped forward. Mel could smell burning rubber from the burnout - and from the tyre that Torch had set on fire.

Up ahead, the first escort car was heading back toward the overpass - further down the road, there was a smoking heap beside the road which looked suspiciously like Ripper's bike.

Clutch managed to steer the poor car a few hundred more metres before there was a loud bang from the left side of the car. It swerved wildly to the side - he wrestled with the wheel, but the car kept fishtailing. "Hold on, we're gonna flip!"

Duke looked over his shoulder. "Mel, buckle up!"

She swore and hurried to fasten her seatbelt - she hadn't bothered to fasten it after switching seats. "Nobody said anythin' 'bout flippin' cars!"

"Just another day at the office," Clutch replied, still struggling to keep the car on all four wheels.

And then - of course - the engine stalled again.

Mel didn't even have time to wonder what was happening. The steering wheel locked in Clutch's hand; before he could grab for the keys, the car spun out. At least one of the tyres blew; the sedan tipped onto its left side.

Mel automatically reached for something, but for some reason she couldn't find the armrest - she felt like she was on one of the rollercoaster rides she loved, only her seatbelt didn't do as good a job of holding her in place as a safety harness would. And it hurt - the diagonal strap across her chest bit in painfully. It held her in her seat, yes…but what it _didn't_ do was stop her from lurching sideways as the car rolled once, twice - or was it three times? Mel couldn't tell. The curtain airbags on this side had deployed, buffeting her about the face again.

The sedan landed heavily on its roof, crunching down hard. It skidded along the road with an ear-splitting squeal that set Mel's teeth on edge. Behind the airbags the windows shattered, leaving a trail of bluish pebbled glass across the bitumen. The roof, not built to hold the weight of the rest of the car, crumpled inward.

Mel couldn't stop herself - she gave a sharp cry of fear. She was used to being in control of a situation, more or less; she wasn't used to a situation being completely out of her hands. She didn't like the feeling.

Eventually - finally - the car ground to a halt. Mel immediately unclicked her seatbelt and thumped to the floor…or roof. She sprawled there for a moment, catching her breathe and deciding whether or not she was going to throw up. Her ears were ringing, her head hurt, her chest hurt. She was vaguely aware of popping noises coming from outside the car, but right now she couldn't figure out what they were. She groaned, rolling onto her knees.

Duke unbuckled his seatbelt and fell awkwardly onto his shoulder. The big man struggled ungracefully to right himself - Mel, small enough to easily roll right way up, still managed to snigger at him, but it was only a half-hearted attempt.

"I take it you're okay," Duke grumbled, still stuck on his side with one foot somehow hooked around the passenger seat headrest.

She nodded, not allowing herself to wince as her head throbbed and willing herself not to spew. "Yep," she assured him. She grabbed his foot and gave it a shove, freeing it from the headrest.

"Clutch?"

The driver groaned, almost landing on Duke as he fell out of his seat. "What a waste of a car…"

Duke rolled his eyes and turned back to Mel, obviously satisfied Clutch wasn't seriously damaged. "This is it. You're on your own from here. Sounds like the others are already laying down some cover fire for us."

"I'll try not ta get hit." She waved her cuffed hands at him impatiently. "Go!"

Duke gave her an even stare, then the corners of his mouth quirked up ever so slightly. "Be careful."

She met his eyes and gave him a quick nod. "Don't you go gettin' yaself killed before I get ta buy ya a beer, okay?"

"What about me?" Clutch asked, clearing away the saggy airbags and shattered glass so he could crawl through the broken windscreen.

"I'll buy you one too, then, but not in the same context."

"Beer's beer." And with that, Clutch and Duke left her alone in the overturned car.

Mel stuck her head out the side window, looking around. The first escort car was parked across the road, providing cover for the Joes as they crouched behind it. She couldn't see the second car - she hoped Rock 'n' Roll, Scarlett and Roadblock had got out before the truck crashed.

A round pocked the ground close to her head, but not close enough to be dangerous. Nevertheless, she drew back quickly into the car and scrambled over to the other side.

The Dreadnoks were taking cover behind the overturned sedan. They were right outside - she could see their boots.

Mel rattled her handcuffs noisily. "Oi!" she shouted. "Hey, someone get me outta 'ere!" She stuck her cuffed hands out the window, then tried to crawl out. She managed to get her shoulders halfway out before getting wedged in the crumpled window frame. "Ah, fuck it. A little help?"

"An' who've we got 'ere?" Buzzer asked, revving his chainsaw as he peered down at her.

She gave him an impatient look, even though it felt like her heart was beating hard enough to shake the entire wrecked car. She was in an extremely vulnerable position; standing over her like he was, Buzzer could just as easily bring the diamond-toothed chainsaw down on her neck rather than on the cuffs. "C'mon, hurry up!" she urged, rattling the handcuffs again. "Get me out!"

Buzzer glanced from her to the other two Dreadnoks, then grinned. "Let's just deal with you then, shall we?" He raised the chainsaw.

Mel squeezed her eyes shut as he swung downward, waiting for the chain to bite into her neck, ripping her skin to shreds before chewing into her spine. She wondered if she'd die first, or if she'd…feel it.

The pain didn't come. Instead, she heard a loud squeal and felt the links joining her cuffs together skittering violently before they snapped apart.

"Now, don't move," Buzzer cautioned before she could say anything.

A little surprised by the warning, Mel opened her eyes, only to see a shower of sparks angling away from her, the screech of tearing metal insanely loud in her already tortured ears. The chainsaw was slicing into the car like it was nothing - god, if Buzzer misjudged…

Buzzer let the chainsaw idle and kicked at the car, and suddenly Mel was free. She scrambled to her feet, looking up and finally getting a look at the three main Dreadnoks. "Phwoar. Ta, mate," she said, ducking instinctively as bullets pinged off the car.

"We got what we came for, mates," Buzzer said, turning to Ripper - who looked slightly singed and battered - and Torch. "Let's go 'ome."

He grabbed Mel by the wrist and began pulling her toward his motorbike.

"Wait a sec, I 'ppreciate ya bustin' me out an' all, but I'm not goin' anywhere -" Mel started, playing hard to get.

Buzzer let go of her hand. "Fine. Stay 'ere an' get chucked back in the slammer when the backup arrives, see if _we_ care."

Mel glanced from the Dreadnok, to his motorbike, to the Joes still crouched behind the car as Torch tried to burn them to cinders. The tongue of flame from his weapon got nowhere near their cover - but the sheer heat held them back, covering the Dreadnoks' exit. The Joes were pointedly trying not to notice her being 'rescued', but even from here she saw Duke's eyes flick over to her more than once. Luckily Torch was too busy wrangling the flamethrower, and Ripper had already climbed onto the back of Torch's bike.

"Gotcha," she said, turning back to Buzzer, but he was already gunning the engine of his motorbike. "Hey, alright, _alright_! Wait fa me!"

To his credit, Buzzer _did_ wait. Mel swung her leg over the bike behind him; he leered at her over his shoulder. "Hold tight."

She slipped her arms around his waist and pressed herself a little closer to him than was strictly necessary. She didn't need to, but hey…it couldn't hurt to ingratiate herself a little to the smartest of the Dreadnoks. That wasn't counting Donald. Road Pig cancelled Donald out immediately.

"What's ya name, luv?" Buzzer asked over his shoulder.

"Don't call me luv. Me name's - ahh!" Mel swore profusely as a bullet clipped her shoulder. Buzzer looked back in alarm as she jerked a little, throwing the motorbike off balance.

"Did they get ya?"

Mel gritted her teeth as she prodded at the small groove in her skin. Somebody was going to get an earful for that. "Hardly," she said. "Anyways, me name's Dingo. Who're _you_?"

"Buzzer." He gestured to the other two. "That's Torch, the other one's Ripper."

There. The ice was broken.

She wasn't Mel anymore. From now on, she was Dingo.

* * *

><p>Duke emptied the last clip at the rapidly retreating Dreadnoks before giving the order to cease fire. He was sure somebody had clipped Mel - he'd seen her make a sudden movement that almost threw both her and Buzzer off the motorbike.<p>

He was going to get an earful for that if he ever saw her again.

No. _When_ he saw her again.

Duke watched as Buzzer rode away, Mel clinging tightly to him. She was pressed close to the Dreadnok's back - the top sergeant felt an unreasonable pang of jealousy.

Back in her room only - yes, it _was_ only a couple of hours ago - it'd been so hard not to get carried away with the last kiss she'd given him. Her bed had been right _there_; for a fleeting moment, Duke had considered scooping her up and laying her down on the mattress, to kiss each tattooed star on her breasts and strip off those tight, torn jeans that she might as well have not been wearing anyway, they were so ragged.

But they were both professionals. A kiss was one thing (or three, he thought wistfully); anything more was…well, it just couldn't happen.

Although _she_ had offered to buy him a beer. Maybe, if they both - no, _when_ they were both done with this operation, he'd ask if she wanted to have dinner with him.

With a sigh, Duke turned to survey the damage - the totalled sedan, the flaming wreck of the truck. Roadblock, Rocky and Scarlett had got out of the second escort car unscathed - the same couldn't be said for the car itself. A flaming piece of metal from the truck's cab had smashed the windscreen.

"Alright, Joes," he said. "Let's get the clean up started. I'll let Hawk know the mission's a go."


End file.
